


Youth Without Youth

by katkrap



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), superwolf - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Prequel, The Hale Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:45:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katkrap/pseuds/katkrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to both shows: John Winchester takes the boys on a hunt to Beacon Hills where they join forces with an old and long-respected hunting family, the Argents.  But when Sam Winchester makes friends with a local boy, Derek Hale, the hunt gets a lot more complicated.  And everyone has something to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youth Without Youth

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song by Metric (which ironically, I hadn't heard until I was halfway done with the entire fic). Fic is going to address two things which haven't (yet) been explored in canon: intimate details of the Hale Fire and Kate's involvement, and the argument that made Sam leave the hunting life and attend college. This fic plans to end with both plot points fully explored. Enjoy!!

_Hangman_  
 _we played_  
 _rubber soul with a razorblade_  
 _behind the church,_  
 _hiding place_  
 _it was a long joke till the punchline came_  
 _Can you read my mind?  Read my mind_  
 _Follow along_  
 _till the end of the song_

* * *

 

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the old man said, staring down the youth propped up against the tree.  “Where are the children?”

The boy had a steady stream of blood oozing out of his left nostril, down over his lips.  His hands were shaking as he gripped the tree behind him to hold himself steady.  All the while, his eyes never left the old man’s.  His jaw worked, and as clearly as he could manage, muttered, “I don’t know.”

A fist cracked on the boy’s face and he slid to the ground.  From behind the abandoned church, a skinny dark-haired boy lunged forward, stopped short by an arm that tugged him back into their hiding place in the stairwell.  “The hell are you doing?!” the smaller girl hissed.

“We need to help him,” the boy snapped as another blow landed.  “That old man could kill him—”

“Derek—!”

“He saved our  _lives_ , Laura!”

The small girl’s eyes were dark and fierce, her hand on his arm turned to claws.  “We go out there, he’ll kill us, too.  You think that’s what Sam would have wanted?”

Derek held his sister’s gaze as long as he could before pulling his arm free and looking back at the clearing behind the church.  The old man was examining his fist, wiping the blood onto a handkerchief as the boy pulled himself back to his feet.  “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, Sam Winchester… and this time I  _expect_  an honest answer.  Where are Derek and Laura Hale?”

The boy against the tree spat out a mouthful of blood.  “I  _don’t. know.”_

The old man’s fist collided with the boy’s face again, this time sending him sprawling in the mess of autumn leaves and mud on the ground.  The old man flexed his hand.  “I can do this all day, boy.”

Derek didn’t look away as his sister began pulling on his arm.  He hadn’t noticed the sounds of the police sirens getting closer.  “Derek,” she hissed, shaking him.  “Derek!  We need to go!   _Now!”_

* * *

 

 

**_One week earlier…_ **

“Hey.”

Sam Winchester opened his eyes to see his brother’s face hovering wrong-side-up over him.  He let out a distressed grunt and tried to stretch, only to realize there was no room to stretch.  That’s when he remembered where he was.  He was in the back of the Impala.  He’d been sleeping.  And they were driving to…

Sam blinked and rubbed hard at his eyes.  “Where are we?”

Dean smirked down at him, leaning in the back window of the car.  “Beacon Hills, California.”  He nodded toward the rear of the car.  “Just got here about ten minutes ago.  Dad said to let you sleep.”

Sam sat, still blinking.  “Where is he now?”

“Talking with the guys Bobby wanted us to meet up with.  Or some of them anyway,” Dean said, nodding in the distance.  “Named Argent.  The old guy’s Gerard and the one standing by Dad is Chris.  Apparently their family is a big deal in the hunting community.  Old roots and that stuff.”

“So why’d they call for backup?” Sam asked, frowning.

“They didn’t,” Dean said with a smirk.  “You know what Dad always says: practice doesn’t make perfect.  Perfect practice makes perfect.  And what better practice than hunting with the people who have been doing it for hundreds of years?”

Sam watched out the rear window as his father talked with the man.  The eldest of the group had hair salt and pepper hair that had gone mostly white around his temples.  He was smiling and shaking their dad’s hand as he spoke.  The other man was roughly the same age as Dad—same-ish.  John Winchester might have had a few more years than the other man—but they looked nothing alike, save the steely shadow of an unsaved jaw and short, conservative haircuts.  Though they were roughly the same height, Dad was bigger than Chris Argent; built wide and thick.  Chris Argent was lean, a narrow face with pale eyes and an easy smile.

Sam kept trying to rub the feeling back in his face.  “How long was I out?”

“You slept the whole way here,” Dean said.  “I’m actually surprised, considering you don’t fit in the backseat anymore.”

Sam sighed.  Eighteen had been a rough year thus far.  The growth spurt from his sixteenth year hadn’t ended, and now he was as tall as Dean with no signs of stopping, but he hadn’t filled out like Dean had.  Dean had the same build as their father; wide and made to put on muscle with training and the right diet.  They both had been eating the same things for years now and all Sam had to show for it was that awkward lanky look of someone who had been shoved in a body five times too big for them and skinny enough he was surprised more people didn’t accuse Dad of not feeding them.  Dean patted his hand on the roof, eyes trained in the direction of their father.  “They’re coming back.”

Sam gave one last grunt of disapproval before twisting and turning into a position where he could actually get himself out of the car. 

“Boys.”

Sam and Dean turned to face front.

John Winchester motioned to the men beside him.  “Boys, I’d like you to meet Gerard and his son Chris.  He and his family are friends of Bobby Singer’s—”

Gerard was chuckling.  “Oh, now I wouldn’t say we know Bobby quite so well.  Our paths have crossed once or twice.  Respectable man of information, to be certain.  Wish we knew him better.”  He took each of the boy’s hands in turn.  “Good to meet you… ah…?”

“Sam,” John said, pointing to the dark-haired brother, then at the other.  “And Dean, my eldest.”  As an after-thought, he added, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought the boys along.”

“Of course not,” Gerard said, still smiling.  “Always nice to see young hunters learning the trade.”  He nodded at them again.  “Your father says you’re already well on your to mastering the hunt.”

For the first time, Chris spoke, nodding in Dean’s direction.  “John mentioned that you took down a poltergeist all by yourself a few months back.”

Dean’s shrugged, but was obviously flattered.  “Well, I  _ganked_  it, but…”  He nudged his brother with his elbow.  “Sammy here got the details on the thing.  Would have flown in blind if he didn’t have my back.”

Sam shrugged.  “It was nothing, just microfiche at the library and—”

“Well, knowing is half the battle as they say,” Chris said.

“Speaking of knowing,” John said, cutting off the idle conversation, “what do we know right now?”

“Right,” Gerard sighed.  “Well, all evidence right now points to werewolves.”

Dean shrugged.  “Werewolf.  Okay.  Pretty basic stuff.”

Gerard smirked.  “You seem to have misheard me, son.  I said  _werewolves_.  More than one.  Several.  Enough that it’s quite possible we’re looking at a pack.”

Sam frowned.  “How many is considered a pack?”

Gerard chuckled.  “Well, to be honest, four would be considered a pack; one alpha, three betas.  But evidence indicates we’re looking at a bigger number.  Double, maybe even triple.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look but said nothing.  They looked up at their father, his expression stony as he examined the map Chris had spread out on the back of the Impala.  It was marked with a circle in red pen, points starred and highlighted in a spattering across the layout of the county.  His finger traced the line.  “… incident map?”

“Incidents, yes,” Chris said.  “Or anything that might be an incident.  You can see where the events cluster, usually out on the hills.  That being said, the pack could be holing up just about anywhere in the county.”

John was rubbing his jaw.  “It’s a big county.”

“Which is actually why I’m going to suggest we split up,” Gerard said, glancing at the boys before looking back at John.  “I was thinking you, me, and Chris could easily cover these backwoods in what?  A week?  Less, maybe?  Comb it for every scrap of evidence, get you some advance training with a recurve bow in the meantime and—”

“And what about us?” Dean asked.

The three adults went silent, and in unison, their gazes turned on the children.  It was Gerard who raised an eyebrow and asked, “beg pardon?”

Dean shifted, folding his arms and muttering, “look, no offense or anything, but I’m kind of getting sick of sitting at the kid’s table.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest,” Gerard said, that easy smile never wavering, “we’ve only brought supplies enough for three.  I’m sorry, boys, I really am.  But that’s not to say we’re not going to need your help in town.”

“It’s unusual for weres to hide in a town,” Sam said, folding his arms across his chest, mirroring his brother.

“Unusual, yes, but not unheard of,” Gerard said.  “We found a rental home in town for cheap and we’ve got it for as long as we need.”  He nodded at John.  “You and your boys are free to stay with us if you like.  No charge.  It’s already paid for.  Besides, my daughter Kate could use another pair of hands to help her case the town.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” John said.

Sam felt his brother shift beside him and glanced at him.  Dean did not look happy, and Sam knew why.  He’d rather be on the front lines with Dad looking for the big kill.  Sam?  He was more than happy to fall into place among the townsfolk, crash at the library and maybe even go to an arcade.  It used to bother him, being left behind during a big hunt, but now?  He didn’t mind so much.  It gave him a chance to pretend he was just another normal teen.   _Yeah.  Wouldn’t that be nice?_

“Dean,” John said, and Dean’s slouch turned to an upright, almost attention-like stance.  “You take your brother to this place the Argents have in town and help Miss Argent with whatever she needs.”

Dean scoffed.  “Seriously?”

“Yes, Dean,” John said, tone gone cold.  “Seriously.”

Whatever defiance had been in Dean’s expression was instantly wiped out.  He cleared his throat and gave a nod.  “Sure.  Whatever.”

John looked between the two and nodded.  “Now, I want you boys to have this whole town cased in and out by the time we get back, understood?”

“Like the high school?” Sam suggested.  And a moment later he was regretting it.  Dad was giving him that look again.  He cleared his throat, added, “I-I can pose as a transfer student.  I’m still high school age, senior year technically, so I…  I-I mean…”  He shrugged and trained his eyes to the ground.  He could still feel his father’s frown on him.

“We don’t have time to make friends with the locals, Sam,” John said.  “I need you on those books, you understand?”

Sam didn’t look up from the ground.  “Yessir.”

Without another word, John looked at Gerard.  “Where’s your truck?”

John and the Argents began talking as Dean turned his back on the conversation, nudging his brother.  “You okay?”

Sam shrugged but still didn’t look up.  “Yeah, fine.”

“You know the only reason he doesn’t want you going to school is ‘cause you’re too damn smart for it, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Whatever.”

Dean sighed, nudging him again.  “Sammy, you—”

“Dean!”

“Yessir!” he said, wheeling around to face their father.

John was in the trunk of the impala, shouldering a duffle filled with clothes, guns, and ammo.  He shut it and gave his son a significant look.  “There’s some credit cards in the glovebox if you need money, the usual equipment’s still in the trunk, you boys radio me if you find anything, got it?”

“Yessir.”

John Winchester held up the keys to the Impala, extended his arm toward Dean.

Dean’s eyes went wide.  “What?”

John pulled the keys back just a fraction and added, “not a scratch, you understand?”  Dean’s eyes went wide and glistening.  Sam was fairly certain he’d start drooling until John dropped the keys into Dean’s open hands.  John nodded to the Argents.  “Let’s head out.  We’ll see you boys in a few days.”

The moment John and Chris were a good few yards away from them, Dean did a crazy sort of touchdown dance before jingling the keys in front of Sam’s face.  “Dude.”

“I know.”

_“Dude!”_

“I know!” Sam snapped, slapping away Dean’s hand from in front of his face.

“Dude,” Dean chuckled, “I don’t care if we’ve got to shack up with some angry old hunter broad, I’m totally cool with it.  We’ve got Baby, we’ve got a house nearly to ourselves, and we’re hunting werewolves.  Could this get any better?”

Sam sighed, slipping into the passenger seat next to his brother.  “Probably not,” he muttered, reclining the seat and closing his eyes.  If nothing else, it would be nice to sleep in a real bed.


End file.
